


It's only

by midmorning_bomb



Series: Aranea & Babewolf [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Creature Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Spiders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:09:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29773887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midmorning_bomb/pseuds/midmorning_bomb
Summary: “Darling, please don’t pout.”“You’repouting.” Stiles pouts, from the upper corner of the library, everything from his hip bones down an angry mass of hissing fangs and venomous chelicerae. “Why would we ever go back to that garbage town? Everyone there is the worst, the only good thing is the very rad and awesome curse I laid.”
Relationships: Braeden/Jordan Parrish, Malia Tate/Kira Yukimura, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Aranea & Babewolf [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2183079
Comments: 21
Kudos: 149





	It's only

“Darling, please don’t pout.”

“ _You’re_ pouting.” Stiles pouts, from the upper corner of the library, everything from his hip bones down an angry mass of hissing fangs and venomous chelicerae. “Why would we ever go back to that garbage town? Everyone there is the worst, the only good thing is the very rad and awesome curse I laid.”

Peter doesn’t hide his smile, “It was a particularly delicious curse, my love. Wouldn’t you like to see how cruel the years have been? Gouging Alan is just gilding the lily.”

Four deep garnet eyes blink coyly down as the hissing lessens to a soft purring, “...I do like money.”

Taking Peter’s hand, Stiles steps haughtily down, twitching appendages melding back into two long legs. His skin trembles as it smooths out, delicate veins of red forming back into the spiderweb tattoo that runs from the graceful line of his neck down to the curve of his calf. Peter has had many well spent evenings tracing the markings with his tongue. And well spent mornings, and afternoons. Also one particularly memorable road trip that had Derek swearing to send them his therapy bills.

Which actually turned out well for all involved, his nephew has been significantly more relaxed about life in general since he started seeing the haltija counselor Stiles recommended.

It’s difficult not to get distracted again by his beautiful mate, but Deaton’s email is too intriguing. No one has heard from the druid since his abrupt departure overseas, until the missive (at least by Deaton’s vague and abrupt standards) popped up in Peter’s inbox. An urgent plea to look into the growing darkness bleeding out of Beacon Hills’ borders like a stain.

Sometimes Peter jerks awake in the night, sweating and disoriented, untethered. Heart lodged in his throat, choking on panic and the fear that none of this is real. That the clean angles of their perfect home, their perfect life together, all comfort and cunning death and challenge and love, are nothing but delusions cooked up in a cold cell. He’s soothed by his aranea, his very life’s breath beside him. It’s also soothing, though, to occasionally think about the aching, slow suffering of those they left behind. The spell Stiles laid really was insidious, not just trapping its victims to a parcel of land, but _binding_ them to it, body and soul. Peter’s black little heart warms at the thought.

“I don’t like it.”

Derek’s new, serene outlook does not apply to the safety of the pack he’s found himself reluctantly leading. They might be loud and annoying. Clingy. They might lounge in his space and eat his food (in both human, arachnid, coyote, and wolf forms), but they’re still his pack. Cluster-pack. His weird and terrible found family.

“If Deaton’s so concerned about Beacon Hills, he can go back there.”

Peter and Malia roll their eyes, while Stiles toys with his silver bangle. Kira gives a bright, pleading gaze, “It sounds interesting though, doesn’t it?”

“We’re out, we’ve got a jumper. Should only take a couple days though, then we’ll be around for backup.” Braeden barely looks up from where she and Jordan are working at the rune-covered kitchen table.

Jordan nods absently, “You could always go with them, Derek, if you’re that worried. Cora’s helping us with this one. We’ll hold down the fort.”

“We can split the profits, nephew. Alan is paying a great deal for this.”

He can’t help the flare of red or the growl in his chest, “I don’t want a _cut_ , Peter. I want you idiots _safe_.”

Shows of alpha strength don’t mean much, though, in the face of a cooing werespider and kitsune. So Derek throws up his arms and mutters something about packing a bag for this inevitable disaster.

Malia watches him go, then turns to Peter: “We still want a cut.”

They pack light on clothes and heavy on weapons, split into two cars. Malia and Kira ride with Derek, everyone has learned that Kira and Stiles together with tomes of magic is a when-not-if catastrophe waiting to happen. No matter how much they insist they’re just “working out the kinks” on something.

The hotel rooms they’ve booked are outside of Scott, Lydia, and the Argents’ limited radius, but whatever gloom is leeching out of town doesn’t seem to care. It’s a near tangible thing that has Stiles’ rant about the shrinking size of chocolate bars fading to a look of hungry wonder.

“Babewolf, that’s not my curse, but it’s getting me kind of hard anyway.”

It’s too late to go wandering around probably-evil woods by the time they’re checked in, although Stiles and Kira are vibrating with excitement and it’s clear no one will be getting sleep anytime soon. A laughing Malia and Kira head to their room to burn off some energy, and while Peter would like do the same, this is technically their job.

Derek is considerably less enthusiastic, clearly feeling uneasy. The darkness is strange and crawls under your skin, giving Peter that ‘tip-of-the-tongue’ sensation of familiarity. It’s not until a couple hours of research and pizza later that Stiles starts laughing, and slides a thin volume Peter’s way.

The Hales level a flat look at each other, Derek pinching the bridge of his nose and Peter reliving one of the more embarrassing moments in his short career spellcasting. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Still grinning widely, Stiles taps a finger on the relevant passage.

“Wish I could! They summoned a fucking demon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Back to you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0xAWmTbInM).
> 
> This is a sequel to [Everything goes (wow)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27851142/chapters/68188918). In case you're wondering about all the spiders (speaking of which, shout out to like, the two readers who commented and also think arachnids are neat, and the rest who read the story despite all the legs and eyes).

**Author's Note:**

> So, an aside: I wanted to say thank you. For all the kind comments, the kudos, and just... reading. I genuinely appreciate all of it, you guys are honestly the best ever. I'm working on a book (admittedly it'll be self-published and free, but still. Book!), and reading all your notes is always so motivating.


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